


a little blood in the water

by kynikos



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (probably), Alternate Universe - Mafia AU, Angst, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Iroh is always badass, Murder, Organized Crime, Plotting, Stabbings and such, Violence, but like in a good way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kynikos/pseuds/kynikos
Summary: Zuko is a member of the Family, a powerful crime syndicate in the underworld of Republic City. The sudden death of his grandfather, the Mountain Master of the Family, disrupts the balance of power. Zuko, with the help of Katara, must compete to earn a promotion from his father.And since it's Azula he's competing against, he's not only fighting for a promotion, but probably his life as well.Mafia!Zuko, and all the shenanigans that comes along with that.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	1. Scarface

#  _There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired_.

### \- F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

* * *

It was a hot, muggy day in the seventh month, and Zuko was roaming downtown, looking for someone to kill.

When someone from the Family – or, as some liked to call it, the administration, or even the mob – was angry, people knew to stay inside. The people at the heart of the city could feel it. When someone from the Family was angry… you’d better watch out.

And Zuko was angry.

His cousin had just been killed. Shot up by a couple of cops, in the middle of the night. They’d brought back the body – grandson of the Mountain Master as he was, he deserved respect – and Zuko had seen it for a moment before they took it away.

The cops weren’t supposed to do that. They weren’t _supposed_ to. Zuko knew – everyone knew – that the cops didn’t lay a _finger_ on someone from the Family. Not a hair on their head. The Family owned the cops. It was known. But there was a new district attorney, someone who the Family hadn't been able to buy or kill. And he was… causing some trouble.

To be killed by a cop. A strip. Zuko couldn’t think of any worse way to go. Drowned, maybe. Burned alive. But if you went out shooting, and you went out to a bullet fired by a cop… it was almost embarrassing, if you thought about it.

So he was mad. Mad that he’d seen Lu-Ten with three holes in his chest and another one in his head. Mad that it had been a strip who’d made him like that. Mad at the world that gave them such shitty weather on a day there should have been clouds and rain, to mark the death of one of the only people in the Family Zuko thought was really worth anything.

He was heavy – carrying a pistol in his coat and a pipe up his sleeve – and he was ready to kill someone.

It was almost a relief when the Stones boys started peeking out of doors and windows, looking into the alley as he walked right into the middle of them. It felt right, somehow, that he'd have a chance to hurt someone. He was backed up by Katara and three Lanterns, and they all had guns of some kind, and he felt like he could take on the world.

It turned out that the concept of ‘the world’, as an entity to be taken on, was a lot less smaller than a total of nine Stones, all itching for a fight.

When they were all there, arrayed in front of Zuko like a firing squad, Fong himself, a Red Pole in the Stones family business, stepped out, a proud peacock general surveying his army. ‘These ain’t Family streets, fellow. You think just ‘cause daddy’s a big man you can walk around this city like you own it?’

Zuko took a quick look around. There was cover, plenty of it. This was the bad side of town, where scrap metal littered the streets and old rusted cars stuck out into the road like broken teeth munching the pavement.

‘So, kid. You wanna get outta here?’

Zuko took a moment to answer, making sure Katara was – resignedly – prepared. ‘I’d rather be clipped than run from a fucking Stone,’ he said, loudly and clearly, and ducked to the nearest hunk of scrap, yanking his pistol free of his coat as he did.

There was shooting for a few moments, as the two groups exchanged pleasantries, in lead form, over the hoods of cars and from behind garbage cans. Then one of Zuko’s men went down, and then another, and it was at that point he started getting worried.

Fong of the Stones was a big man, and his entire powerful frame was crouched uncomfortably behind an old pickup. Zuko had his eye on that spot, hoping for just a moment to take the shot. But Fong had been a Red Pole for years longer than Zuko had owned the gun, and he didn’t let two square inches of himself be seen.

‘Where’s Big O now?’ Fong shouted over the bursts of gunfire. ‘Where’s daddy, big boy?’

‘Close your _fucking_ head,’ Zuko growled, but there wasn’t too much he could do.

His last man crumpled up, yelling about his shoulder. ‘Check him,’ he snapped to Katara, and she ran at a crouch to try and bandage the wound. She carried bandages on her whenever they made their rounds. At the moment all she was going to be able to do was stop the bleeding, but Zuko knew from experience that she could patch someone up better than any doctor in the world. When people asked why he let a girl make the rounds with him – and _his_ girl, too – he always pointed out that he’d been shot six times and hadn't died once.

He kept an eye on the Stones as they slunk about from cover to cover, trying to get into a position to take a shot at him or Katara. Most people imagined gunfights to be fast-paced, loud, and over quickly. In his experience, they were only like that for the first half minute; then they slowed down as everyone tried to stay alive. There was a lot of watching and waiting for the other guy to make a move.

Just when he was about to suggest that he and Katara slip quietly away, someone, somewhere – he decided later there must have been a Stone hiding in a window – shot him in the right knee.

His world went white hot. He’d been shot before, but this was the worst one yet – like someone had taken two hot pokers and put one in his knee and the other right at the base of his skull. His vision went white and he collapsed onto his arms.

His most coherent thought, aside from _it hurts_ , was the image of a single blade of grass sticking up through the badly paved asphalt right in front of his face as he lay on the street, his right cheek in the dirt.

‘Zuko!’ he heard Katara scream, from somewhere far away.

He blacked out for a moment, and when he could see again, his gun had been kicked away and Fong was standing over him, a smile on his face that turned down on the corners. ‘That looks like it hurt, boy,’ he said, and tapped his shattered knee with one huge foot. Zuko gritted his teeth, _pain_ shooting all along his leg, and managed not to whimper like a baby.

‘Your scar giving you trouble?’ Fong said.

Zuko was scarred. An angry red burn, covering his left eye and ear, which left him half-blind in the eye and half-deaf in the ear. Fire was nothing to mess with, and Zuko had learned that the hard way. But he didn’t notice it much anymore, unless men like Fong pointed it out, just to fuck with him.

Fong bent down and rummaged in Zuko’s coat pockets. He found the stack of bills, wrapped in a rubber band, that Zuko had gotten that day on his rounds. He flipped through it. ‘I’ll take this,’ he said. ‘Don’t seem right, a kid like you wandering around with this much cash on you. Tell your old man I said hi, alright—’

At that moment the _tat-tat-tat_ of a well-kept automatic broke out over the near-quiet of what had been a gunfight.

‘Stones! Grab some air!’ someone roared from further down the street. ‘Fong, if you or any of your boys makes a move, I’ll put metal in all of you.’

Katara was kneeling a few feet away from Zuko. They had both been relieved of their weapons, and now they met eyes. They sighed. Zhao, one of the Family’s Straw Sandals, with his fucking expensive gun, and his fucking cigarette, and his fucking straw hat that he kept cocked on his head because he wanted to be a Gangster with a capital G.

If Zuko had to pick between getting gunned down by cops, or saved from the Stones by Zhao… it would be a tough decision.

‘Hello, Zuko,’ Zhao called as he approached. Zuko found himself wishing someone would shoot at the man. At least knock the stupid hat off of his head. ‘Your father was just worried _sick_ about you.’

He liked to affect a smooth Caldera accent for reasons no one had yet been able to discover. When he got mad, though – which Zuko had seen once, and liked to remember on days he was feeling particularly down – he fell back into his normal voice, an almost Islandic accent with a pitch a whole octave higher.

Behind Zhao, _twelve_ men with nearly identical long trench coats were lined up, hands in pockets or in their coats. Zhao spread his arms, the melodrama thick enough to cut with a knife. ‘Come on, Fong,’ he said. ‘Tell your boys to stand down.’

Zuko could see the wheels turning behind Fong’s eyes, as he tried to decide whether it was worth it to fight. His men were already set up and in position… he was holding quite a bit of money… Zuko and Katara were essentially shields between the two groups…

Zuko saw him make the decision at the same moment Katara dove forward, tackling Zuko – his knee flared in agony again – and rolling with him out of the direct line of fire. As if in response, Fong stumbled back, shouted, ‘ _Shoot them_ ,’ and both sides started throwing lead.

Katara and Zuko weren’t targets. So while the gunfire was going on almost right over their heads, she carefully, gingerly, rolled up his pant leg, and inspected the wound.

Zuko didn’t look. But Katara’s sharp gasp and the way she wouldn’t touch it told him everything he needed to know. ‘I’ll walk?’ he asked.

She hesitated. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Soon as all this shooting’s over, we’ll find a fancy cane and you can walk on that for a while.’

He slumped. ‘Right. Great.’

‘You're gonna be alright, baby,’ she muttered, and started bandaging it up.

When the shooting was finally over, they looked out together. Zhao was unhurt, and most of his guys were still upright. Fong, on the other hand, wasn’t doing nearly so well. He had been hit – from the way he was moaning, hit pretty hard – and the rest of his guys were on the ground.

Zhao walked over and pulled the wad of cash out of Fong’s hand. ‘I’ll take this,’ he said. ‘Pretty sure it belongs to the Family.’ He nudged the huge man with one foot. Red Pole Fong, huh? Stones fella? Not as tough as I thought you'd be.’

Fong didn’t answer, cradling one arm in the other and swearing nonstop under his breath. Zhao snorted and turned towards Zuko, a new sneer already forming. ‘Your father has some news,’ he said. ‘About the Family. He sent me to find you. You’d better get back to him as soon as you can.’ He eyed the knee, which Katara had finished binding. ‘However long that may be.’

With Katara’s help, Zuko got to his feet, and held out a hand for the money. Zhao laughed. ‘Sorry, Zuko. Finders, keepers.’ He eyed Katara, and came over and put a hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair. ‘You’re not too bad, girl,’ he said, his voice dropping a little more. ‘Ever get tired of this kid, come find me.’

She gave him a smile and leaned in closer, the top of her head barely coming up to his chin. ‘Maybe I will,’ she murmured, and Zhao growled appreciatively before turning back to his group.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get outta here before the strips arrive…’

When he had gone, Katara handed Zhao’s wallet over to Zuko. He had seen her slip her hand into the man’s pocket, soft and silent as a ghost, and draw out the wallet; and he knew that no one else had seen, or ever would. She was good at that too.

‘You know I love you, don’t you?’ he asked through clenched teeth as he took a few shaky and painful steps.

‘You sound so mad,’ she said, smiling. ‘I don’t know if I believe you. Why don’t you show me how much you love me—’

He stumbled for a moment, and she caught his arm. ‘—later.’

‘Right.’

He took a step, then looked back at Fong, still prone and moaning. 'Can you...' He gave Katara a look.

She sighed. 'I'll take care of it.'

* * *

They made their way slowly to the house. It felt like it took hours. ‘I can’t wait for that cane,’ Zuko muttered, as they climbed the three stairs leading into the Blue House.

‘And I can’t wait to hear what your old man says when he sees you limping into the room like this,’ Katara said, and pushed open the door.

Zuko hadn't dressed to impress that morning. It was a rounds day, and the only people who he had intended to see were nobodies paying dues, so he had gone simple. Pants, shirt, belt. Nothing too fancy. And by this time the shirt was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, and the right pant leg was gone below the knee, and there was a scrape up his cheek that was still welling droplets of blood.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when they walked into the room and were greeted by the cold, silent austerity of twenty or so Family members, all in their nicest hats and spotless suits. Ozai, Zuko’s father, the Vanguard to Mountain Master Azulon, was in the center of them.

‘Zuko,’ he said. And that was all he said, but Zuko could feel his displeasure like a hammer.

‘Zhao told me I should come as soon as I could,’ Zuko answered.

‘Your cousin, Lu-Ten,’ Ozai said. ‘Has been killed.’

‘Yes,’ Zuko said. He had a vague idea of where this was going. Lu-Ten’s death caused a power vacuum. There would have to be changes made, promotions given…

‘And my brother Iroh has decided to retire.’

 _What_ ? They called Iroh the Dragon. He was… a terror. Everyone feared the Family – they were the biggest, ah, _organization_ of their kind in the city – but _everyone_ feared Iroh. Iroh could do anything, be anywhere, find anyone. He could kill whoever needed killing, convince whoever needed convincing, hide whatever needed hiding. If no one could do the job, the Family gave it to Iroh, who finished it up before lunch and then went to Pao’s for fries and a milkshake.

If he retired… everything would change. What would Master Azulon do now? Who could possibly replace the Dragon?

But then Ozai said, ‘And my father, Master Azulon… has passed away, in his sleep.’ And Zuko’s mind simply stopped working.

 _The Mountain Master is dead. Long live the Mountain Master_ . It would be Ozai, now, who took Azulon’s place – no one would want to challenge Ozai, he had too much power – and _that_ power vacuum would swallow up the city if someone didn’t fill it quickly.

‘I see,’ Zuko said.

‘Zhao and your sister should be here any moment, and I will discuss with the three of you the implications of these changes.’

The doors opened the moment Ozai finished the sentence, and Zuko’s sister – Ozai’s daughter – Azula – walked in.

There weren’t many words to describe Azula. They tended to understate; ‘deadly’, ‘vicious’, ‘terrifying’, ‘insane’; these were all perfectly accurate but didn’t convey the emotion felt when you watched Azula burn a man alive for brushing against her sleeve.

Zhao entered behind her. He had been holding the door. He tipped his hat to Ozai, and when the three of them – Zuko, Zhao, and Azula – were standing at attention in front of the new Mountain Master, he continued.

‘I am searching for a replacement for myself, now that I am the Master and there is a hole in the ranks of our Family. The three of you are the possible candidates, and I've decided that you will be given chances to prove yourselves, making up for any… past mistakes.’ His eyes lingered on Zuko, and Zuko cringed.

Katara, at his side, found his hand and squeezed. He took a breath.

‘The new district attorney has been an annoyance to the Family,’ Ozai continued delicately. ‘Whichever of you can… alleviate this annoyance… will have done a great service to the Family, and will be given the position I have just vacated.’ Zuko’s father liked to speak extra nicely when talking about things like murder. He glanced at each of their faces again. ‘Am I understood?’

The three of them assented in their own ways. Ozai nodded, satisfied, and motioned with his hand. ‘Off you go, then. When DA Aang is out of the picture, I will select my successor.’

* * *

Zuko had lunch at Pao’s with Iroh that day.

‘I just don’t understand why you retired now,’ he grumbled. He wasn’t having anything. Men like Iroh could drink chocolate milkshakes because they had already proven themselves a fate far worse than death, but he, Zuko, still had a reputation to maintain. ‘Now, when everything’s changing so quickly.’

‘My boy died because of this kind of work. I’ve had enough. I’m gonna start a bar down on Eighth, and name it after him, and that’s gonna be it,’ Iroh said. ‘My brother can take care of the Family—’

Zuko leaned in. ‘He’s told us to go after DA Aang,’ he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

Iroh shrugged. ‘I knew it. That Aang fellow either knew what he was getting himself into, and did it anyway… or he’s an idiot. Whichever it is, I got no stake in this game. The DA and the Family can go round and round for all I care.’

‘Azula’s going to kill me and Zhao,’ Zuko said. Iroh shrugged again.

‘Get her before she gets you, that’s all I got to say.’

‘I can’t! You know what she’s like! There's no way I can get anywhere close to bumping her off. One mistake and I'm in a wooden kimono, and with _her_ , everything you do ends up being a mistake.’

‘Plan ahead, kid,’ Iroh said. He tipped back his glass and finished off his milkshake with a sigh. ‘Think a couple steps ahead.’

‘That’s her thing.’

‘ _Do_ her thing, then. Make it _your_ thing. I didn’t become the Dragon by going off dumb instinct. I had to think before I acted.’ Iroh stood, set a quarter on the table, and picked up his coat. ‘Anyway, good luck and good hunting, prince. If you ever want a drink, come see me, soon’s I get the place open. But don’t – _don’t_ – get me wrapped up with any of this kinda stuff again, okay?’

He walked out.

‘Right,’ Zuko muttered, glaring at the empty milkshake glass. ‘Plan ahead.’


	2. The Third Man

#  _Hidden away in peace_

#  _And sure of your strong-built walls_

#  _You will live a life serene_

#  _And smile at the raging storm_

### -Boethius, _The Consolation of Philosophy_

* * *

When he and Katara had been younger, Zuko had dreamed of leaving Republic City. Of leaving the Family altogether, hopping on a boat to the other side of the world, and living with Katara in some small town in the middle of nowhere. Of finding peace. That’s all he had ever wanted.

You didn’t say you wanted out of the Family. Never. No one ever said that, no one hinted at it, no one _thought_ it too loudly. The Family had a habit of making wishes come true in ways you never expected, and the quickest and easiest way out was straight to the bottom of the river wearing nice shiny bracelets.

But he told Katara. And she told him that she felt the same way. And they had talked about _going_ , about moving, about changing everything around so that they could be out of this constant struggle of the Family, and at peace in a place where the Family was barely a memory.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be anywhere in particular. He just wanted to be gone from where he was. They made plans, bold in the hopeful joy of youth, bold in the fresh new excitement of self.

And that had been eight years ago.

He didn’t care about the promotion. He didn’t care about the power or the money. If he had his way, he would stay out of it, and let Zhao and Azula fight it out – and it wasn’t a contest who would win, either. He would have liked nothing more than to sit back and keep planning a way to get out of the city and way from the Family.

But this was Azula’s chance to get rid of him with no consequences. And she would take it, as sure as a turtleduck will snap at a piece of bread. He was an opportunity, to her. A chance, and an obstacle, at the same time.

And Zhao. Compared to Azula, Zhao was nothing – a vicious dog, who would bite and snap and lunge for the throat but who would cringe away when you slapped it, and who Azula would crush without jostling a single hair out of place. Zhao was a Straw Sandal – a liaison officer in the complicated hierarchy of the family. A replaceable role. Zuko was sure Ozai had included Zhao simply to act as a buffer between Azula and himself; a third point, forming a triangle; a balance, so that neither of them would be able to focus their full attention on the other.

Zhao would not be the hard part. The hard part would be getting to him before Azula did. There was a saying among the more criminal class of Republic City: ‘It’s business; you cannot put yourself first in the underworld’. Whoever eliminated Zhao from the picture would gain the support of the men he oversaw, as well as solidifying their position in the Family before the district attorney was so much as touched. Ozai’s promotion would make official what Zhao’s neutralization had started. It was simply good business.

Zuko considered, for a moment, focusing all his attention on getting to Aang. But he knew it wouldn’t work. Azula would already have put men on the job of _protecting_ Aang. She wouldn’t let Zuko or Zhao get to him, and she wouldn’t kill him herself until Zhao and Zuko were both underground, so that when the promotion did come, she’d have no further competition.

So Zuko was in the unpleasant situation of being forced to get rid of Zhao, Azula, and district attorney Aang, before Azula killed him herself.

And all he’d ever _fucking wanted_ … was to run off with Katara somewhere, drink tea, and do nothing, together, for the rest of their lives.

* * *

At eight in the morning, the day after Ozai gave him his orders, he was on the street yelling at a pair of old ladies crossing the street.

His leg was all wrapped up. The knee had been completely destroyed, and Katara had been tight-lipped about the whole thing as she’d fixed it up. She had asked him if he wanted to go to a doctor, and he had said no – and he didn’t regret it, not by a long shot, he trusted Katara more than thirty fancy motherfuckers who had gone to university and used big words and charged the whole other leg when they were done – but it still _hurt_. So he was limping, one hand firmly grasping a cane, as he yelled at these two ladies.

They avoided him, scuttling around him like a couple of nervous pigeons, terrified. It could have been the yelling, or the smell of liquor, or the lack of a shirt, or the metal pipe in his hand, or any combination of these factors.

He stood in the middle of the street, cars honking furiously as traffic bent around him. He snarled at the passing drivers, banging on their hoods with his pipe. Looking for trouble, in the easiest way possible.

Finally two strips, hands resting cautiously on the pistols at their belts, approached him. ‘Hey, buddy,’ one of them said. ‘Why don’t you put down the pipe, alright?’

Zuko didn’t want to get beaten too hard, so he put down the pipe and laid down the cane. It turned out they didn’t care how calm and cooperative he was; they beat him anyway. His knee flared up in pain as one of them elbowed him in the forehead, and he blacked out in a nauseous swirl of black.

He woke up handcuffed and in a cell. His head was throbbing and his neck felt thick – the expected symptoms of being knocked out – but he tried to ignore the pain. The cell itself didn’t do much to make him feel better; a grimy, badly lit room with nothing but walls and bars. It had once been white; but a hundred generations of rats had run in and out of the room through the hole in the corner, since the last time it had been painted.

He made his way to the bars and rattled his handcuffs against them.

‘Hey,’ he grumbled, as loudly as he could without his head splitting. ‘Hey!’

He was soaked with a bottle’s worth of cheap baijiu, and it stank. He rubbed his forehead, trying to drown out the headache, and kept shouting.

It took about ten minutes before anyone actually showed up. When they did, it was a bored looking officer with a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked in. ‘Keep it down, fella,’ he drawled. ‘Gotta learn patience around here. We’ll get to you, don’t worry about it.’

‘I need to speak with the district attorney.’

The officer laughed and turned away.

‘Wait,’ Zuko said, clutching at the bars. ‘Listen… listen, okay. I was there when they killed those guys down on South Yangchen. I know the guy who killed Fong personally.’

The officer raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I know who it was. And I want to talk to Aang. The district att—’

‘I know who Aang is. Okay. We’ll see. Just sit down and quit _banging on the bars_ or I’ll knock you out again.’ He marched off. ‘…fucking punk…’ But Zuko heard him break into a run as soon as he thought he was out of earshot.

He sat back and tried to make himself comfortable. With his eyes closed, though, the only thing he could focus on was his pounding, nausea inducing headache, and he had to open his eyes and walk around the room before he stopped feeling like he was about to throw up.

It took longer, this time. About an hour passed, during which time he did absolutely nothing but count cracks in the ceiling and wondering if Zhao was dead yet.

At least in here, Azula couldn’t get to him.

It had been a joke for a moment, but he considered the serious possibility that Azula had decided to strike right away. Zhao might very well have already died, in which case the beginnings of a plan that he had begun to concoct would accomplish nothing at all.

But somehow he didn’t think so. It wasn’t Azula’s way, to act quickly. She planned. She liked to plan. She planned, and she lied. Those were the two thing she did best, and she did them _very_ well.

Finally, the officer came back, with another cop right behind him. They gave him the usual warnings, opened the cell, and hustled him roughly – disregarding the tortuous pain in his knee – through the precinct, out of the cells and into the offices, and through the offices and into the Office. The one that had ‘District Attorney’ over the door, and smoked glass instead of the normal kind.

The office was empty and almost bare. There was a desk, two chairs on each side, and a single empty picture frame on the wall. ‘Where’s Aang?’ Zuko asked. They shoved him – unnecessarily roughly, he thought – into the chair in front of the desk, told him to stay there, and left.

His hands were cuffed. He considered un-cuffing himself, but decided against it. He was supposed to be drunk, after all. He spent _another_ undetermined amount of time sitting in the office of the Republic City District Attorney, and was just about to fall asleep in the chair when the door opened and Aang himself walked in, resplendent in an ill-fitting suit and tie. He sat down behind the desk, leaned forward, and crossed his hands. ‘Your name?’ he asked.

‘Lee.’

‘Right. Sure.’ Aang took out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote something. ‘Jai said you have something to tell me.’

Zuko leaned forward, mirroring Aang’s pose, until they were staring at each other across the desk. ‘I want out of the Family.’ Aang frowned. ‘I was there when they shot Fong, of the Stones, the other day,’ Zuko added. ‘I assume you know about that.’

‘I do,’ Aang said carefully. He set the pen down. ‘Fong’s death is going to make a ripple in the underworld of this city…’

‘What about Azulon?’ Zuko whispered. ‘Do you know _he’s_ dead?’

Aang went very still and very quiet.

‘He died the day before yesterday,’ Zuko said. ‘He’s been replaced by his son, Ozai, as the Mountain Master of the Family.’

‘I see.’

‘And Iroh,’ Zuko said, dropping his voice to the softest whisper he could manage. ‘The Dragon. He’s retired.’

Aang got up, went to the door, locked it, and sat back down. ‘If you're lying to me,’ he said, ‘I can find out easily.’

‘I'm not.’

‘You're a nobody who got arrested for drunk and disorderly. What do you know?’

‘I'm not a nobody. And I'm not drunk – the baijiu’s all on the outside.’

‘Alright. I’ll assume you're not lying for now. Okay? And you can tell me a whole lot of things, and then I’ll think about it.’

‘About what?’

‘Whatever it is you want from me. Talk.’

‘I’ll get you people. Bring you heads, whatever you want. Just get me out of here, and I’ll do whatever you want.’

‘Isn’t there any sort of code in the underworld?’ Aang asked. ‘Don’t you say _you can’t put yourself first in the underworld_? I’m sure I've heard that saying at least twice from people from the Family refusing to rat out their guys.’

Zuko glared.

‘No honor among thieves?’ Aang stood up again and walked around the room in a restless circle. The linoleum floor already bore scuffs from countless hours of pacing. Zuko kept his eyes on the desk.

‘You're desperate,’ Aang finally said. ‘What else do you want?’

‘I want my name cleared,’ Zuko answered.

‘Of a drunk and disorderly?’

‘No. Of manslaughter.’

‘What?’

‘I was there when they shot Fong, remember?’ Zuko kept his eyes on the desk as he talked. ‘I was the one who _killed_ him.’

Aang stopped pacing.

‘I killed him and two other of his guys, okay,’ Zuko went on, voice low, almost begging. ‘I shot them and I killed them and I'm gonna end up in prison for life cause one of them saw my face and got away. But I don’t want to get locked up again…’

‘So you're planning on giving me people in exchange for… exoneration?’

‘…Yes.’

Aang went on pacing.

‘Alright,’ he finally said. ‘Here’s what I’ll do. I’m keeping you here while I confirm that you know what you're talking about. Once I'm satisfied you're _someone_ , I’ll let you go. Then I want three people.’

‘Who?’ Zuko asked.

‘Zhao, a – Straw Sandal, I think you people call it? – wanted for… quite a few murders. You know him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Azula. Azulon’s granddaughter. The one they call the Princess.’

‘Wait…’

‘And the Dragon. Iroh.’ Aang sat back down behind his desk and gave Zuko a hard stare. ‘Do you understand?’

Zuko understood perfectly well. Aang never intended him to find these people. Aang thought he was a nobody. Spirits, Aang _knew_ he was a nobody, a low-rank, two-bit no one with no influence and no way of getting these people to where Aang needed them.

‘Alright,’ Zuko said. ‘I’ll do it.’

Aang raised an eyebrow. ‘Zhao, Azula, and Iroh.’

‘Yes.’

‘You're a bold man, I’ll give you that.’

Zuko still didn’t look Aang in the eyes. ‘Yeah, well. When you're in the Family, you have to be.’

After that, the release took several hours. Between the end of his conversation with the district attorney, and the time he walked out the precinct doors, hobbling on the cane they had given back to him, nothing was said about the _deal_ . But it was there, hanging over him, almost tangible. There was more of _law_ about it than the forms he signed.

He would bring Zhao, Azula, and Iroh in to face justice at the hands of DA Aang. Or he would get prison.

And they were watching him. Aang had made that clear. There would be eyes on him almost anywhere he went. They weren’t giving him the slightest chance to slip away. As he descended the precinct steps onto the street, he could already tell that there were eyes on him. Someone in an alley, someone behind a newspaper, someone up in that window. People were watching him. His father’s people. Aang’s people. Azula’s people, even.

He whistled as he walked, and tossed crumbs out of his baijiu-soaked coat pocket for the pigeons as he went, and although his knee hurt like anything and threatened to give out on every step, he did a little hop over the cane every now and then.

* * *

‘Hey, darling,’ he said, smoothing his voice into a suave Caldera radio star purr, as he opened the door into the apartment he shared with Katara. ‘I’m home.’

She wrinkled her nose at him from where she sat cross-legged on the only chair in the room. ‘You look terrible.’

‘I feel great.’

‘Why’s that?’ she asked.

He made a show of looking around to see if anyone was listening in, and dropped to one knee next to her chair. ‘I think,’ he said, only a few breaths above a whisper, ‘that you and I may be able to get that farm out in the country after all.’

She almost audibly gasped. ‘Really? What do you mean?’

‘I’ve got a plan, okay. A lot of things are going to have to happen. My sister is… you know. I have to get her and Zhao out of the way, and the DA, and everything. But I'm hopeful.’

‘So am I,’ she said, and her face broke into a smile. The first one he had seen on her since the shootout the day before.

‘Should we celebrate?’ he asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Of course we should,’ she said. ‘Clean yourself up first, though. I don’t intend to be seen in public with a man who looks fresh off the streets.’

* * *

They went out. He did clean himself up, of course. He put on his nicest clothes, and washed up and combed his hair and everything. Some people might have tried to cover the scar, but he had decided years ago to wear it proudly, a testament to his ability not to be beaten by little things like fire. Especially when the fire was of his own making.

They wandered through the upper class part of Republic City, where no one sat begging on the stoops and where all the cars were new and shiny. The sun set and the lights came on, and the city was lit up in brilliant colors.

They had one drink at one place, and a second at another, and got dinner at a third. They wandered past the shops, looking at each glass storefront as they passed. Neither of them wanted anything at all, in those stores. The only thing that interested them in those windows was their own reflection; and they looked at the glass only to see each other, arm in arm, as much in love then as they had ever been.

Zuko knew it didn’t happen much. It wasn’t usual, for a guy in the underworld to stick to one girl, or one girl to stick to one guy. And not for eight years. For damn sure not eight whole years. But there wasn’t a single day where he so much as considered the idea of leaving. And he knew, with as much conviction as he knew there were sixty seconds in a minute, that she felt the same way. And it astonished him daily, and affirmed him daily, and he didn’t talk about it too much cause he wasn’t a _sap_ but he loved her like the sun loves the moon. Except in their case they didn’t have to chase each other around and around; they had left that part behind and moved on to _together._ She was everything to him; and he was everything to her, although he couldn’t have said why.

These were his thoughts, right up until he stopped and knelt to tie his shoe, and a pair of men who stunk of cheap beer stopped on both sides of Katara.

‘Hey…’ one of them slurred, so far gone he could barely have said his own name.

Zuko stood up like a jack-in-a-box. ‘Fuck off,’ he said, voice hard as diamond. His hand was already in his pocket, fingers around the handle of a switchblade.

Their heads swiveled, as if connected, to face him. ‘Oh,’ one of them said vaguely. ‘She with you?’

‘I said, fuck off,’ he repeated, and drew the knife a few inches out of his pocket. He wasn’t sure if they could even tell what it was, though. Whether or not they saw the knife, the tone of his voice managed to penetrate their alcohol-soaked minds and they moved on.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said to her. She raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s not _me_ you would have needed to apologize to, if they’d had three more seconds to do anything,’ she said.

‘What exactly does that mean?’

‘I’ll leave it open for interpretation,’ she said.

A few yards down, the pair had accosted another girl, this time one who was on her own. ‘Leave me _alone_ ,’ she snapped at them.

‘Actually, never mind,’ Katara said, shrugging. ‘I’ll do it anyway.’

‘A romantic end to this night out,’ Zuko said, finding a wall to lean against while he waited. She didn’t need help.

‘Hey,’ Katara called, coaxingly, to the two men, who left the new girl like two dogs tempted with a treat. There was an alleyway open nearby. Katara pointed toward it. ‘Let’s go in there…’ she suggested, and they agreed willingly, following her in. Various metaphors came to Zuko’s mind; dogs following a trail, pigs running to feed, rats slipping into a hole. None of them human.

Katara came out a few minutes later.

‘Everything okay?’ Zuko asked her, kissing her forehead.

‘Of course,’ she said, slipping her arm back into his.

‘You have a bit of blood on your arm…’

‘So I do.’

‘Let me…’ He wiped it off with his sleeve.

‘I hope none of that messes with any of your plans,’ she said after a moment.

‘Actually, I think it’s better this way,’ he said. And it was true; he could already see how this would work into the story he would present to Aang. There was quite a bit of work he would have to do, but working in an explanation for two men dead on the night he took his girlfriend out for a night on the town was not among the difficulties ahead. If he could use this to convince Aang he knew what he was talking about, it could even make it all easier. ‘It was worth it, anyway.’

‘Absolutely, it was,’ she said, pressing herself closer against his arm. ‘This was nice, Zuko. The night, I mean.’

It was true; the night had been a good one. A bit of hope, looking ahead to the day when they would be out of the Family. Zuko could almost taste it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on break now, which in theory should give me more time and therefore make me more productive. ha. 
> 
> anyway, it's beginning to look a lot like something that's intended to look a lot like christmas. which means nothing to me because i'm staying at home like i should. and _you_ all should! and everyone should! please for fuck's sake stay at home!
> 
> comment and kudos, i suppose. survive!


	3. White Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everyone!

#  _Nothing fucks with my baby_

#  _Nothing can get a look in on my baby_...

### \- Hozier, _NFWMB_

* * *

‘We found two men dead last night.’

It was a cold morning. It should have been warm; by all rights it should have been warm. The last few days had been uncomfortably hot and humid, and the river had begun to stink in preparation for the middle of the summer.

But it was chilly, this morning, and the fog hung low over the city, thick and white, blown in from the ocean or drummed up from the river. It was strangely tangible, thrown up in billowing sheets over the streets as cars passed impatiently beneath. It floated, tacked to the sky haphazardly, and buildings faded into it like ghosts forgetting their names. The fog was a part of Republic City just as much as the Family or the streets themselves – although this late in the year it should have been gone hours earlier – and it was something Zuko would not be unhappy to leave behind.

The man speaking to him was an officer from the precinct, a pathetically obvious plainclothesman with a badly hidden pair of handcuffs tucked into the back of his pants.

‘Two men dead?’ Zuko asked. ‘By the Jeweled Rose bar?’

‘Yes…’ the man said cautiously. ‘What happened to them?’

‘Zhao,’ Zuko said, dropping his voice. ‘I heard him talking about it last night at the meeting.’

‘The meeting?’ the man asked.

‘A Family gathering. Not too many people were there, but Zhao mentioned… _getting rid_ of two guys who owed him some money and were trying to get out of paying him back. Setting an example, you see.’

The officer looked him over with what Zuko hoped was new respect. ‘I see.’

‘Make sure the DA hears about this, yeah?’

‘Of course.’ The man hurried off, a satisfied expression spreading over his face as he turned away. Zuko hoped the story would reach Aang as close to the way he had told it as possible. Judging by this man’s elation, it would.

Aang wanted to get his hands on these men, it seemed.

Zuko moved on. He had work to do today; despite the whole thing with Aang, he still had normal, day-to-day Family duties to perform. Today was rounds again, this time on the side of town less frequented by rowdy gangs of Stones. Zuko had opted to go alone, but realized too late that if he _did_ run into anyone looking for trouble, he wouldn’t be in good shape. His knee was swollen and _probably_ infected, he walked on a cane, his head still spun from getting knocked unconscious yesterday… and to top it all off, his scar throbbed from the unusual weather.

He _hurt_.

He didn’t have much to think about. He could contemplate his plans for the coming days; that usually made him worry, and a worried man made rounds badly. He could consider the just-out-of-reach possibility of leaving the Family and running off; but that kind of thinking led to a deep sadness that plagued him at late nights.

So he kept his mind on the pain he was in, and that train of thought led, as it usually did, to dying. How would he die. It was something he thought about constantly. How he would die, what would lead up to his death, what he would like to do before it happened, and so on.

When he had been a child, he had liked to play with fire. It fascinated him, the different ways flames could move, how certain things would catch on fire, how long it took them to burn. His mother – when she had been alive – had called him her ‘little arsonist’, and since he hadn't understood what the word meant he assumed it was a pet name like ‘darling’. He had made little flamethrowers out of cigarette lighters and hairspray canisters, and had spent hours tormenting ants and burning flowers.

One day he had been burned.

* * *

He didn’t like doing rounds. He knew some guys did; the people like Zhao, who found power in bullying people smaller than them. He supposed that men like that had to look pretty hard to find anyone small enough to look down on, and rounds were one place to find them.

When you lived in certain parts of Republic City, you belonged to the mob. One organization or another, any of the multiple syndicates who had their webs spread out over the city. The city was a dangerous place, and if you wanted to ensure your safety, you took shelter under the wing of a mob. Any mob, really. The police were incompetent and bureaucratic, and most of them were in some debt of _guanxi_ to one Mountain Master or another anyway. So in order to keep yourself alive and well, you paid the mob. And the mob kept you safe.

Zuko had never been involved in a retribution. That was the job of a Red Pole, someone who’d go with a gang of men with large guns and deal out punishment to those deserving. If someone burned a house, or stole money, or injured, or kidnapped, or in any way caused harm to someone under the protection of the Family… judgement was swift and merciless. The Family took care of its cousins, as the saying went. Zuko had seen a man hanged from a streetlight for drunkenly breaking the window of a restaurant owner – a cousin, who subscribed to the Family’s protection.

But it cost. A monthly fee, in exchange for a red mark over a window or door; half a man’s salary, in exchange for security. Thus, rounds. The time when the Family sent members around to businesses and homes to collect. Sometimes they didn’t pay; that was what the metal pipe was for. Sometimes someone tried to take the money; that was what the pistol was for.

The rounds passed mostly uneventfully up until just after the very last one. A house, right on the river, with its roof caving in and the red sign of the Family chalked up over the window. Zuko knocked three times.

‘Who is it?’ someone called.

‘Wang Lee,’ Zuko called. Since everyone was called Wang Lee, no one was called Wang Lee, so it had become almost a codeword for _someone from the Family, you don’t need to know who exactly_.

The door opened hesitantly. It was an old man, squinting through the doorway. ‘Oh,’ he said, voice quivering. ‘What do you want?’

‘Pay protection, cousin,’ Zuko said. ‘Or I wash the flame off the wall there.’

‘Oh,’ the man said again, face falling. ‘No, no, come in. I’ll bring the… the money.’

He disappeared back into the house. Zuko took a quick look around the street. Not that he was particularly worried about the police – they never patrolled down by the water – but he was concerned that Zhao or Azula might take this moment to strike. The thought of them hung over him, shadow-like, every waking moment. But he felt that Zhao would focus on Azula, in an attempt to get the stronger of them out of the way first; and he was fairly certain that Azula would crush Zhao before Zuko, for the opposite reason.

If he hadn't intended to kill both of them himself, he would almost have liked to see what would happen between them.

Finally he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He wasn’t worried this man would try and hurt him. You didn’t mess with the men on rounds.

The inside of the house wasn’t in any better condition than the outside. The walls were bare and in the end stages of a decades-long process of disintegration. The man shuffled to a dresser, one of the only pieces of furniture in the room, and opened a drawer.

‘How long have you been working for them, young man?’ he asked, as he searched for the money.

Zuko didn’t answer. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. This man looked like the kind of old person who dealt in pithy, one-line statements; doling out snappy wisdom from a collection carefully hoarded and curated over the years. Responding to him would only fuel the fire.

‘I used to be a closer relation,’ the man went on. ‘A brother, not just a cousin…’

Zuko tried his best to ignore the old man.

‘You know what happens to little men like you, in the great big Family?’ the man went on, and a note of satisfied malice crept into his voice. ‘Little two-bit guys like you, when you get older and slower? When you're no good for bullying anymore? I’ll tell you. They get rid of you. Oh, they won’t kill you. They’ll just leave you. Send you off somewhere and bleed you dry over protection for the rest of your life.’

He turned away from the dresser, hands empty. ‘You don’t think so, huh? You think you're too important? All right. You're a big deal. A big shot. You’ve got friends in high places.’ He leaned forward, his face twisting into a sneer. ‘ _Here’s_ what'll happen, then. You're gonna end up _shot_. They're going to give you a job you can’t finish, and you’ll get killed.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘There's only two ways a job with the Family ends, cousin.’

‘Give me the money,’ Zuko said. ‘Or I’ll break your arm.’

The man fished out the wad of bills from the dresser and handed it to Zuko. After fanning through the money to make sure it was all there, Zuko left without another word, feeling that if he allowed this old man to drag him into conversation, it would end with a body hidden somewhere.

And he wasn’t up for that. Not again.

As he left the house he saw, out of the corner of his eye, _something_ move. His heart immediately went to work. He ignored the urge to flinch, and walked normally down the street, keeping all his senses focused on the spot just at the edge of his vision where he'd seen the flicker.

Someone was in an alley, just around a corner, waiting for him to pass by. So he crept to the alleyway and slid the metal pipe into his hand out of his coat.

Predictably, his knee throbbed as he tested it, silently laying his cane against the building, preparing to fight and _maybe_ kill someone. He counted his heartbeats, allowing them to slow. When he made it to twenty, he stepped out and swung the pipe in one movement, striking blindly.

It seemed like it all happened in slow motion. The pipe was about a foot too short, and the man in the shadow stumbled back, eyes wide. Zuko pushed himself forward as the pipe hit the brick wall, tackling the man – whose hands were empty – to the ground.

 _Too much is happening all at once, over the last few days_ , he thought, before focusing only on beating this man until he was unable to reach for a knife or gun.

‘Who are you?’ he asked finally, standing and gingerly touching a bruise on his cheekbone. The man had put up a fight, but not a good one, and the bruise on Zuko’s face was the worst of anything that had happened to him.

The man grumbled through bleeding lips, and tried to spit.

‘What do you want?’ Zuko asked, stepping on the man’s hand. ‘Talk or lose parts.’

‘Fuck you,’ the man whimpered, and gasped as Zuko put more pressure onto his index finger, grinding down through the heel. The gasp turned into a choke, and he coughed for a few seconds, finally hacking up a mouthful of blood.

Zuko took a cigarette lighter out of his pocket. He flicked the sparkwheel and the flame burst to life. The man groaned again. ‘Talk.’

‘Okay, okay. Listen… they told me to keep an eye on you… I wasn’t gonna hurt you or anything, really…’

‘Who’s _they_.’

The man shook his head, eyes still wide and terrified.

‘Azula, right?’ It had to be. Zuko had learned how to be scary when he needed to be. If this man was willing to get burned rather than say who he was working for, it had to be Azula. ‘Tell her I’m going to kill her when I'm done with Zhao.’

The man closed his eyes and didn’t answer.

‘ _Tell her_ . And if I ever see you again, I’ll burn your fucking _eyes_ out of your head.’

Zuko put his pipe and lighter away, gave the man one last vicious kick for good measure, and retrieved his cane.

The walk home was peaceful, right up until the moment he stopped outside his street and someone touched his arm.

‘What do you want?’ he asked. It was a woman in streetclothes but who was so _obviously_ with the police he almost laughed.

‘Aang wants to arrest Zhao,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow night.’

‘He moved fast,’ Zuko said.

‘Apparently he was responsible for two murders yesterday. Aang says he’s wanted for questioning, at least.’

‘Alright,’ Zuko said. ‘Does the DA have a plan?’

‘He does.’

‘Does the DA intend to share this plan with me?’

‘He does. He wants to talk to you.’

Zuko sighed. ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said.

‘It’s been a long day for the DA too. Come on.’

* * *

Judging from the shadows under Aang’s eyes, it had been quite a long day indeed. He was sitting behind his desk, staring wide-eyed at the opposite wall. He blinked and rubbed his temples when Zuko walked in, and gestured to the chair.

‘Hello, Lee,’ he said. ‘It’s been an exciting couple of days.’

‘Really?’ Zuko asked, sitting in the seat. ‘Those bodies were helpful, then?’

‘What? Oh, right,’ Aang said, distantly. His eyes were still fixed on the wall. ‘No, no. I'm talking about the guy we found today…’

Zuko thought of the man he had beaten and left down by the river. Had he gone to Aang? Surely Azula wouldn’t have allowed it… ‘Tell me about him,’ he said.

‘Someone from the Stones. He had been hurt pretty badly – he’ll probably lose the hand – but he had been part of a group in… somewhere, I can’t remember the name… and they… and Zhao… Zhao attacked them. I…’ He trailed off. Zuko struggled to understand what Aang was saying in his sleep-deprived incoherency. Zhao had attacked someone from the Stones? That couldn’t be right. Not even Zhao was that stupid… not now, not when his life and career were on the line…

‘Anyway,’ Aang went on. ‘We have enough proof from this witness that it’s Zhao, and that’s enough to lock him up for a while.’

‘So what's your plan?’ Zuko asked, still trying desperately to understand what was going on.

‘We’re going to arrest him,’ Zhao said simply. ‘You're going to bring him somewhere secret and we’re going to be there waiting.’

‘I see,’ Zuko said. ‘Alright. There's a warehouse on Salai Road, down in the packing district. No one uses it for anything illegal. I’ll get him there tomorrow night and make sure we’re as alone as possible.’

‘The one that’s owned by the Golden Fan Company?’ Aang asked.

Zuko blinked. ‘…Yes.’

‘Good.’ Aang tore his eyes away from his million-mile-stare and took a deep breath. ‘Good. Alright. That’s settled. I’ll arrive at ten o’clock tomorrow, at the warehouse, with as many officers as possible. We’ll have him surrounded.’

‘What if I can’t get him to come alone?’ Zuko asked. Aang gave him a hard look.

‘We want him alive. But I will remove him from the streets by any means necessary.’

‘I see,’ Zuko said again. ‘Is that all you have for me, then? I’ve got a meatloaf waiting at home.’

‘Yes, yes, go,’ Aang said. ‘Go have your meatloaf.’

Zuko nodded and went to the door.

‘Lee?’ Aang said.

‘Yeah?’

‘If you're lying to me… if any of my people end up hurt because of you…’ He stood and straightened some papers on the desk. ‘I’ll end you.’

‘I'm sure you will,’ Zuko told him.

‘And, uh…’ Aang nodded to Zuko’s cane. ‘Hope your leg gets better.’

* * *

Azula didn’t know where he lived, he was almost certain. No one in the family did. He took shortcuts and backtracks and side alleys and blind turns and he waited around corners when he thought he might be being followed, and he knew Katara did too, and whenever either of them had the slightest suspicion that they had been found, they switched apartments at the drop of a hat. So the walk home took longer than it needed to, but he made it without being followed.

He opened his own door and breathed in deeply.

‘How was work?’ Katara asked, a sarcastic imitation of how they _wished_ they greeted each other. Zuko wanted to ask her how her day was after she had spent it working with kids at a hospital somewhere; she wanted to ask him how he was after he had been pouring drinks for rich folks in a nice bar uptown.

Instead she had spent her day patching up brothers who had made a wrong move, and he had spent his bullying people on the poorer side of town.

‘I got to talk to the district attorney,’ he said brightly, hanging his hat on the wall and throwing his coat over a chair. ‘A very nice man… He said he hoped my leg feels better.’

‘Aw, how sweet of him,’ Katara answered, coming into the entryway. ‘You should give him something nice.’

‘I plan to.’ He hesitated. ‘He told me about someone from the Stones who went to him and said Zhao had killed some guys.’

‘Zhao? Why would he do that?’

‘I don’t know. It seems stupid, even for him.’

She sighed. ‘Take a break, just for a couple of hours, okay? I have dinner and everything. Forget about all that for a while.’

A smile came to his face without him even realizing. ‘Alright.’

The meatloaf was wonderful, and after they had eaten she showed him a clipping from a newspaper talking about a district in the Earth Kingdom that they agreed would be a perfect place to live. They weren’t particularly interested in the city, but there was a farming village on a lake.

As they lay in bed, lights off and curtains drawn, Zuko asked, ‘What will you do if I don’t make it?’

‘What?’ she asked, already half-asleep.

‘If this job kills me. If Azula gets me, or Aang gets me, or if I fall into the street and get run over by a taxi.’

She rolled over and grabbed his arm, pressing her face into the curve between his shoulder and neck. ‘If you don’t make it,’ she murmured into his skin, ‘I’ll be dead too. Because I'm going to be with you all the way. You're not getting rid of me that easy…’

She fell asleep in moments, but Zuko lay awake, staring at the ceiling. When he finally drifted off, he dreamed of growing cabbage on a farm, where he and Katara could go out on the lake in a boat in the evening and fish for carp.

But somehow all his dreams ended with gunshots ringing in his ears, and he woke the next morning restless and uneasy.

* * *

‘Tell Zhao. 9:45, at that old abandoned warehouse on Salai. Tell him I have a deal for him. If you don’t tell him, or if he doesn’t come, I’ll burn you.’

He wasn’t going to go himself, of course. He wasn’t an idiot. Sending someone else, and threatening them with painful bodily damage, was good enough. Zhao would get the message and be incredibly suspicious, as he should be; he would also believe Zuko that there was a deal, which would be the mistake. Zhao was the kind of self-important man who would believe that others wanted to work with him. He would believe Zuko wanted to make a deal, simply because he believed that of course, _anyone_ would want to make a deal with him. Zuko was a young man, terrified of his psychopath sister; he needed the help of the older, more experienced man. Then of course Zhao would get rid of him when Zuko had finished making himself useful.

Zhao would send men to scout it out first. They’d get there very early; a dozen at least. They’d check out the building, searching for hidden men or traps or anything like that. But there wouldn’t be anything to find. (Except a little spot in the wall where a support beam jutted out at an unusual angle, large enough for someone to slip inside and be protected from gunfire.) Zuko would get there at 9:45, and he’d tell Zhao his plan for how they’d team up against Azula. And then fifteen minutes later, Aang would show up with a lot of officers, and one way or another Zhao would be eliminated from the game.

The man he was holding by the collar gulped and nodded. Zuko let go, and the man ran off.

Zuko was no Azula, but he could still inspire fear when he put in an effort.

He swung his cane, allowing himself to feel hopeful. The bruise on his face had darkened overnight, and Katara said she was worried something had broken. It hadn't felt bad when he had been in the middle of the fight, but now that the adrenaline had drained away he felt it every time he spoke, smiled, or blinked.

Beside that, his knee has gotten worse. Maybe the scuffle yesterday had done something, or maybe it was something else. But it _hurt_ , a lot, and even though he tried to ignore it, it flared up in an angry burst of pain whenever he took a step.

And he had a migraine from when he had been knocked out by the police. All in all, he felt pretty bad.

Zhao loomed large in his mind, and behind him, larger, stood Azula. The fact that Zuko didn’t _know_ what she was doing right now… confused him, just a little. Her movements were careful, precise, and planned, yes, but they didn’t tend to be _hidden_. When she did something, everyone would hear about it.

And so far she hadn't done anything at all.

He spent the day on edge. When it came time, he put a pistol in his coat, a pipe in one hand, and the cane in the other.

‘You're going alone?’ one of his men – Jee – asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Is that… a good idea?’

‘Yes.’

The walk to the warehouse was a long one. Every step shot heat up his leg, and worry into his mind. Every way this could have gone wrong went through his head – if he had misunderstood Zhao, if he had put too much trust into Aang, if he had thought wrong of Azula.

And he felt watched. It wasn’t the police, he was almost sure. There wouldn’t be any reason to watch him, not now. But someone was following him. It had to be Azula. But the tail never came close to him, and by the time he got to the warehouse the person was gone.

Two of Zhao’s men were standing by the door. They let him in silently, and the door closed behind him when he had made it inside.

The inside of the building was big, dim, and empty. Zhao was standing there, waiting. Zuko could see at least ten others, all armed, standing around the room. There were probably more. Zuko took a moment to check that spot in the wall, the alcove where someone could take cover; it was empty.

‘Hey, there, Zuko,’ Zhao said.

‘Hello, Zhao.’

‘So. Let’s get straight to it. You have a deal for me?’

Zuko kept his smile on the inside, and nodded. ‘I do…’

* * *

They talked for seventeen minutes. Zuko outlined a highly detailed plan, requiring their cooperation and combined effort, which would result in Azula’s and Aang’s deaths, with little harm done to either Zhao or himself. It was a good plan; he had put a lot of thought into it. It would probably even have worked.

But he was well aware that if they _did_ do it, and if it _did_ work, he would end up dead too. Because Zhao didn’t play well with others.

After seventeen minutes, someone knocked loudly on the door. ‘Zhao! This is Chief Beifong of the Republic City Police Department! You're under arrest!’

‘You _traitor_ ,’ Zuko snapped, furiously, at Zhao, whose eyes widened almost comically. Before the man had enough time to realize how ridiculous that accusation had been, Zuko dove away from him, dropping the cane, pulling the pistol from his coat, and ducking into the alcove in the wall. He closed his eyes as his knee erupted in pain.

‘ _Shoot him_ ,’ Zhao roared, already running away from them to the back door of the warehouse. Zhao’s people started firing, some at Zuko, some at the walls. One of them looked like he was shooting into the air.

Shots were returned from outside. Zuko kept his eyes on Zhao as the chaos unfolded. When he opened the back door, he was met with a line of police officers, who lunged forward as he slammed the door shut again. ‘Where are the exits?’ he screamed at no one in particular, ducking as another round of gunfire came from outside, punching through the warehouse walls. One of Zhao’s men dropped his pistol and dropped to one knee, cursing and clutching at his bleeding forearm.

Zuko took aim and shot, once, twice. He was aiming for Zhao, but missed both times; Zhao’s head whipped around. Zuko saw, from the look on Zhao’s face, that the man understood everything.

‘ _You_ ,’ Zuko mouthed, pointing, and then drew his finger across his neck. Zhao’s eyes hardened.

‘Put down your weapons and place your hands over your head!’ the police chief shouted. ‘This is your final warning!’

Zhao’s crew kept shooting. Zuko supposed they hoped to somehow get out of this, but he knew Aang would have more than enough officers to take care of all of them.

Another round of gunfire came from outside. Two men went down, then another one. Zuko shot at Zhao again. Zhao was hiding behind one of the roof support beams, and Zuko missed. This was taking too long. ‘Come on, Zhao,’ he called, over the persistent thunder of gunfire.

‘Zuko!’ Zhao screamed, face red with rage. ‘I’ll _kill you for this_!’ He drew his gun and rushed toward Zuko, firing wildly, reckless in his mad fury. On his third step, a shot from outside caught him in the chest and his body jerked to the side, as if he had been hit with a truck. As he fell, another bullet hit his arm and twirled him like an acrobat, so he hit the ground rolling.

Zuko emptied his gun at the man writhing on the floor. He wasn’t sure how many times he actually hit Zhao, but by the time his pistol clicked, empty, Zhao had stopped moving. ‘It was a coincidence,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Crazy, how those police shoot, sometimes.’ An image of Lu Ten flashed over his mind for a moment and he shuddered.

With Zhao down and probably dead, his crew lost their enthusiasm. It took less than a minute for the last of them to set down their guns and put their hands on their heads. When the police outside stopped shooting, Zuko took a deep breath. Cautiously, his empty gun held at the ready as a bold bluff, he stepped out from his hiding place and walked to the door.

‘It’s me,’ he called. ‘Lee. Don’t shoot.’

‘Alright,’ Aang said from outside. ‘Let us in.’

Zuko swung the door open and the Republic City Police Department rushed inside, various weapons at the ready, and went about arresting everyone in sight.

‘Zhao?’ Aang asked.

‘Ran into a couple of bullets,’ Zuko said, pointing. ‘I don’t think he’s gonna make it.’

He and Zuko went and stood over Zhao’s motionless body. Aang raised an eyebrow at the six gunshot wounds, but didn’t say anything.

‘Anyone else important?’ he asked, scanning the room. Zuko took a quick look at the sullen faces of the handcuffed thugs, but there wasn’t anyone of interest.

‘Not here,’ he said.

Aang nodded, and leaned in close to Zuko, so his mouth was almost touching Zuko’s ear. ‘Listen,’ he said, and his voice was very flat. ‘I want Azula, and I want Iroh. And I want them right now. You have a week—’

‘A _week_? Getting this together this quickly almost got me killed—’

‘A week.’ Aang stepped back. ‘Notify me as soon as you're ready to make your next move.’

Zuko frowned. Aang seemed… off. Like he was suddenly _less_ trustful of Zuko, even though he had just been handed Zhao on a silver platter. Maybe it was that he had wanted Zhao alive… but Zuko was concerned. Had something happened, that Aang wasn’t telling him? Had he learned something? What was there to know? Zuko looked away, and shrugged. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘A week it is. You drive a hard bargain, district attorney. But I’ll see what I can do.’

He walked away, leaning heavily on his cane, feeling Aang’s eyes on the back of his head as he went.

* * *

‘Zhao is dead.’ Ozai’s words were emotionless. He had known this would happen, Zuko decided. Ozai had known Zhao would die first. And he expected it to be Zuko next. There simply wasn’t a way for them to get to Aang without tearing each other apart as they went. This assignment had been Ozai’s way of cleaning house before he began renovations; he intended to run the Family in a certain way, and he didn’t need interference from anyone else. Zhao, Zuko, and Azula, together, were too much of an annoyance to him.

The idea that perhaps a father should think more highly of his children than as pieces to be moved about on the board was not one that any of them entertained. Their family was the Family in miniature; there was loyalty, but only to a certain point. Self came first. Ozai and Azula took care of themselves. That was why they were strong; they had no weaknesses, no weight, nothing to look out for.

Zuko had Katara. And he knew that his father and his sister saw it as a weakness; and he knew that loving someone as deeply as he did meant only that he could be hurt so much more easily.

But somehow it seemed worth it, anyway.

‘Zhao is dead,’ Ozai said again. ‘He was killed by the new district attorney last night.’

Zuko and Azula made noises of mild interest and concern.

‘I can only assume that Zhao was attempting to accomplish the task I set him. A commendable effort, I suppose. But there is no point in giving honor to dead men.’ He looked them each in the eyes. ‘I can only hope that neither of you had anything to do with this?’

‘Of course not, father,’ Zuko said. ‘I am your loyal son.’

‘I do not associate with the police,’ Azula sneered. ‘Zhao’s death was a result of his own stupidity.’

‘I see,’ Ozai said, and whether or not he believed them Zuko never knew. ‘Complete this task and remove this annoyance from my city before he kills any more of my men. You may go.’

They went.

Outside, in the street, they stood two armlengths away from each other for a moment, eyeing each other warily as passersby shuffled past.

‘Funny thing,’ Azula said, inspecting her fingernails, her coat draped over one arm. ‘Zhao dying.’

‘Funny.’

‘Just at the same time he was going to meet _you_.’

Zuko stiffened. ‘Who told you?’ A half second after the words left his mouth he cursed himself.

A slow, lazy, wolf smile curled around Azula’s face. ‘I think you just did.’ She blew on her hand and shrugged. ‘I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have done it like that, myself… But to each her own, I suppose. Of course I won’t _tell_ anyone. I wouldn’t tell on _you_ , brother dear.’

‘You had someone following me, down by the river.’

‘Hmm?’

‘When I went on my rounds. Day before yesterday. He was clumsy. I saw him.’

‘Whatever _are_ you talking about?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘I haven’t had anyone watching you since you talked to the DA, that day…’ She put on her coat and walked past him, running her fingernails along his shoulders. ‘Perhaps you have a secret admirer. Or perhaps you're simply getting paranoid. Anyway, goodbye, big brother. I’ll see you soon.’

She walked off and disappeared into the crowd like mist on a hot day. Zuko stared after her for another moment, trying to decide if she was lying.

_Azula always lies. That’s what she's good at. It’s what she does best._

And yet he worried. He felt that familiar itch on the back of his neck. It didn’t mean he was being watched; it meant that he thought he _might_ be being watched. It meant nothing other than that he was nervous.

But still, he looked around.

* * *

‘They told me they want you,’ he told Iroh, leaning over the bar and trying not to draw attention to himself. ‘The cops. They're still after you.’

Iroh sighed. ‘Did you tell them where I was?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Zuko frowned. ‘Because… I don’t want you to end up in prison for life?’

‘Ah.’ The Dragon came around the counter and sat on the stool, sipping from a cup of tea. ‘Well, maybe you should tell them. It might be easier for you, in the long run.’

‘But… you…’ Zuko stuttered, trying to think of what to say.

‘Listen, prince. It might not be so bad, after all. I know a couple of high-ups in the city. They owe me. They rely on the Family, in fact.’

‘I don’t know how much pull you still have with the Family, uncle,’ Zuko snapped. ‘You left, remember?’

‘You know what _guanxi_ is?’ Iroh asked.

‘Give and take?’

‘Something like that. That’s what my brother would call it, I'm sure. But there’s a little more to it than that. _Guanxi_ is the reason anything gets done around here. It’s the reason some people do what others tell them to. I know that you’ll help me later, so I help you now; I know that you’ve helped me in the past, so I’ll help you now even if you won’t give me anything in return, because others are watching to see whether I keep my end of the deal.’

‘Bribery.’

Iroh laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose someone might call it that. Listen, prince. Don’t worry too much about me. If things get tough, go ahead and tell them where I am. You're a fine young man, and you’ve got a lovely lady at home.’ He clapped Zuko on the shoulder, and lowered his voice. ‘And when you get out of here, and find that farm… give me a call, alright? I’d like to visit, sometime.’

Zuko blinked. ‘How… how do you know?’

‘I thought about exactly the same thing when I was your age,’ Iroh said. ‘About running off and leaving this place.’ He stood up and went back around the counter. ‘Now, be off with you, prince! I have customers to serve!’

Zuko nodded, and walked out of the bar and into the quickly darkening twilight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow new chapter. oh boy, i bet this means i'm almost done with this fic, and then i can go finish 'all you have is your fire', huh?
> 
> haha. sure.
> 
> comment kudos subscribe if you liked!


	4. Miller's Crossing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while.

#  _Then the LORD said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And Cain said, I know not; am I my brother's keeper?  
_

### \- _Genesis_ 4.9

* * *

When Zuko had been a very little child, he had liked to play with fire. He would put a lighter in front of a can of his mother’s hairspray and pull the trigger. He’d roast the sidewalk, charring the weeds poking through the cracks in the pavement and torching the ants.

His father ignored him. He ignored Zuko most of the time. ‘If you burn anything, I’ll teach you a hard lesson,’ he said once, and that was all. His mother thought it was funny. ‘My little arsonist,’ she’d call him. ‘My little firebug. Be careful not to burn yourself, dear…’

Later – much later – Zuko decided Azula felt left out. But at the time he didn’t know. He couldn’t have told. She kept her feelings closed up so tightly that no one ever knew what she was thinking, even as a child.

He was playing with fire once, and he wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around him, and Azula crept up out of nowhere and shoved his head sideways into the spray of flammable fluid. It stuck to his skin as it lit, and he writhed on the ground, screaming, as it burned itself out.

Azula didn’t tell anyone, and by the time they took him to the hospital the burn had gone deep and the scar was inevitable, a sullen red that covered the left eye and stretched to the ear.

When his father saw him for the first time after it happened, he merely said, ‘You have taught yourself the lesson. Take it to heart.’

* * *

Everything had been happening so fast for the last few days. Zuko felt more on edge than he ever had. He felt that around every corner someone was watching and waiting, and he found himself shying away from strangers on the street in fear that they worked for Azula and had a knife ready to stab.

It would have to be soon. He and Azula couldn’t keep moving around and around each other without acting; the strike would be soon, tomorrow or the next day, or sometime during the week. He had no idea what she was planning. Whenever he did, he would have to do soon.

And that was the plan. To strike soon. He didn’t have anything grand, or intricate, or thought-out. He didn’t have a plan at all. Because he knew – he _knew_ – that if there was a plan of some kind, Azula would figure it out. She always did. She was several steps ahead, at all times. With her, the only way to win was to not play at all.

That's what he hoped, at least.

So there wasn’t a plan. There was nothing he was waiting for, except a time that _felt right_. The plotting had been for Zhao, as far as it had gone. And it had worked with Zhao, but Azula was not Zhao. Azula most certainly was not Zhao.

The day after his meeting with his father passed uneventfully. It was the time for rest, to breathe in deeply after Zhao’s death and wait, quietly, for something to do. He and Katara stayed close to each other, cautious and alert, and did a few little things for the Family. Nothing big or exposed. Nothing where they might run into Azula or someone under her command.

Jee pulled him aside and handed him a letter near the end of the day.

‘Who’s this from?’ Zuko asked.

‘He didn’t say,’ Jee answered. Zuko peeled open the envelope.

_Hello, Zuzu. I’ve been trying and trying but I just can’t get ahold of you anywhere._

_I think we should meet, don’t you? I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve. Bring your friend, even. We should have a little talk. I have something interesting to tell you._

_Let’s go to the same place you killed Zhao. Noon, tomorrow. It’ll just be me… Don’t keep me waiting!_

* * *

He hadn't wanted to let Katara know about it, but as soon as she saw him she frowned. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Tell me, Zuko.’

He closed his eyes and counted to five, trying desperately to think. He wanted to lie to her, but he couldn’t think of a lie in time. He wasn’t good at lying. That was Azula’s thing.

Finally he handed her the note. She read it and shrugged. ‘You know I'm coming, right?’

‘Well, you are now. I didn’t want you to—’

‘Zuko, I told you before. Wherever you go, I'm going, alright? If your psycho sister throws you in the river, I'm coming in right after you.’

‘That’s what I don’t want.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But you say the same thing to me.’

‘I do. Because it's true.' He held her tight for a long moment. ‘It’s gonna be okay.’ But he was mostly reassuring himself. He didn't entirely believe it. 

‘I know,’ she said again.

After a minute, she added, ‘When we meet her, I'm going to kill her.’

* * *

‘Jee,’ he said.

‘Boss.’

Zuko handed him the note. ‘Bring as many guys as you can. Show up a minute late, and don’t come inside. If she’s got her people there too, don’t start anything. Got it?’

Jee nodded.

‘And if things go bad,’ Zuko whispered, ‘you _better_ get Katara out of there first.’

Jee nodded again.

* * *

The next day was cold. Very cold. Middle-of-winter, rainclouds-coming, skies-look-angry-at-the-world cold. There wasn’t any fog, either. Just cold, and in Republic city, any kind of cold was enough to make everyone bundle up. Zuko and Katara came down from their apartment into a street of people walking by, heads down, arms crossed. The city looked angry. It had a sort of belligerent attitude, as a whole, as if it was preparing to pick a fight with whoever made eye contact with it first.

‘The warehouse,’ Katara reminded him, softly. He blinked.

‘Right.’

‘Are you alright?’

Almost on cue, his knee gave out as he put tentative weight on it. He sagged and she caught his arm. ‘I'm fine,’ he said, unconvincingly. ‘Just need to start walking and it'll get better.’

It didn’t get better. The entire walk to the warehouse was an unrelenting barrage of pain, his leg flaring each time he took a step. ‘I feel like an old man,’ he muttered once. ‘The cold’s making it worse. You could use me as a weather forecaster…’

By the time they made it to the warehouse, the overcast sky had thickened. They stopped outside the doors, the sunlight filtering through the clouds casting a vague shadowless brightness over everything. ‘You think she's actually alone?’ Katara asked. Zuko shrugged.

‘I have some guys coming.’

‘She said come alone,’ Katara said.

‘She said _she’d_ come alone. And Azula always lies.’

The door was unlocked. Zuko pushed it open slowly and deliberately. They were both armed, of course. A pistol was tucked into Zuko’s coat, brass knuckles sat heavy in his chest pocket, and he had swapped out his normal cane for a weighted one that could kill someone if it hit the right spot. Katara had a pistol under her coat as well, and a switchblade in her pocket.

Azula was sitting inside. She wasn’t alone – that wasn’t surprising – and she was playing a harpsichord. That _was_ a bit surprising. It was sitting in the middle of the warehouse floor, surrounded by about fifteen large men with weapons. And Azula was sitting on a bench in front of it, playing.

When Zuko opened the door she stopped, ending on a minor chord that she left hanging in the air as she folded one leg over the other and turned to face him. She placed her hands on her knee. ‘Hello, Zuzu,’ she said.

‘Azula.’

‘I'm going to kill you here, you know.’

‘You're going to wish you'd killed me. I'm not stupid. I had my own guys come. Either I leave here, or neither of us does.’

‘Neither of us _do_ , I think,’ she corrected him. ‘And anyway, I wasn’t going to kill you _yet_. I was going to tell you something, remember?’

‘Get it over with, then.’

She stood, relaxing into her ‘lecturing’ pose. Zuko divided his attention between listening to her and listening to any sound that would mean Jee had arrived.

‘You're sloppy, big brother,’ she told him. ‘You messed up on this job. A couple times, actually. It’s been only too obvious what you’ve been up to since the beginning.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. You went and talked to Aang. That was bold, and clever, but also very _stupid_ because I was watching you the whole time.’

‘I assumed you were.’

‘And what did you think I’d do once you found out? No, no, don’t talk. It’s my turn right now. When I found out… I went and had a little chat with the DA myself.’

Zuko stilled. It had been… a possibility. He hadn't thought it was likely, but he had known she _might_. ‘What did you two talk about?’ he asked, lightly.

‘Oh, lots of things. I told him about the Mountain Master’s son, Zuko…’

Zuko choked.

‘…and how he had a job to do. I told him I was very sympathetic and all for law and order myself…’

‘I'm sure.’

‘And he believed me. I'm very good at making people believe me.’

He breathed, once, twice. Alright. She had told Aang. So what. He’d get out of here, and they’d keep going. This wasn’t the end. He just didn’t have Aang on his side anymore, no big deal. There wasn’t a time crunch. He could plan.

‘Oh, also, he told me he was interested in finding three people. Zhao, Azula – whoever _she_ is – and Iroh. Zhao got killed pretty quickly, and for some reason I didn’t have any interest in turning in this Azula character. So who do you suppose I used as leverage to win him over?’

A hot prickle of fear ran up Zuko’s spine. ‘What did you do? What did _he_ do?’

‘A couple of hours ago, I think, the Jasmine Dragon bar was raided by the RCPD, and the criminal known as the Dragon was arrested. At least that’s what I think I haven't spoken to Aang today - the next time I see him face to face I'm going to be digging out his eyes…’ She trailed off and inspected her fingernails meaningfully. ‘Iroh’s going to be executed soon, I hear. They’ve got the permit already – special order from the magistrate. The death penalty, for a _long_ list of crimes.’

‘ _Executed_? Are you _crazy_? They wouldn’t execute a member of the Family, no one that high up would allow it—’

‘Well, you see, dear brother,’ Azula interrupted him. ‘He’s not really a member of the Family anymore, is he?’ She paused, and went on, ‘Actually, if you remember, _you're_ the one who told Aang that our uncle was retiring… His death is your fault!’ She laughed as if she had suddenly gotten the joke.

‘He’s not going to die,’ Zuko snapped. ‘I won’t let it happen. I’m going to kill Aang and take my place in the Family—’

‘Oh, please,’ Azula drawled. ‘You're going to be in the mud at the bottom of the river. Even if you _did_ kill me here, make it to Aang, and finally get rid of him, you'd never stay in the Family. You're too weak. You want to run away, don’t you.’ She sighed. ‘You want to run away, like you always do.’

For a moment he was speechless. ‘I'm not running away now,’ he managed.

‘But you'd like to,’ she hissed, sounding suddenly furious. ‘You'd like to run away. You're a coward, and a loser, and a failure. You want to _run_.’

‘I'm not _running_ ,’ he snapped back. ‘And why do you care?’

‘It’s for her, isn’t it,’ Azula said. ‘You're insufferable around her.’ She snapped her fingers, and the man nearest to her put a knife in her hand. ‘We’ll get rid of her first.’

‘If you touch her, I’ll tear your arms off.’

‘Aw, that’s so sweet. So sickeningly sweet.’ She tapped her finger on the blade. ‘Hm. I think I’ll kill you both, now, so there’s less trouble. I don’t have anymore gloating to do, anyway.’

‘If you kill us now,’ Zuko pointed out, ‘you’ll just die here too. My guys are right outside.’

‘Your guys? So you _didn’t_ come alone?’ She mock-pouted, balancing her knife on her finger. ‘I'm hurt, Zuzu.’

‘I’m leaving,’ Zuko said.

She snapped her fingers, and the men behind her raised their guns. ‘If you move towards that door before I tell you that you can, these gentlemen will shoot you before you make it three steps. You're not going anywhere.’

‘So… what?’ Zuko asked. ‘You're just gonna keep us here until one of us dies of hunger?’

‘No,’ she said, and rested her elbows on the harpsichord behind her. ‘I'm going to keep you here until you get desperate to go _save uncle._ You want to play hero, so I'm letting you. Do something heroic.’

And she was right. Zuko did want to… _play hero_ , somehow. He wanted to go find Iroh and kill Aang and get Katara far away from this ugly city. His knee twinged, as if to remind him that no matter how much he _wanted_ everything, he couldn’t do it all.

Time was running out. He had no idea how long Iroh would be in Aang’s possession. But he’d be shipped out of the city _soon_.

‘Fight me,’ he said.

Azula smiled. ‘Alright, brother dear.’

He hesitated. ‘Just like that?’

‘Sure,’ she said, standing up. She was wearing a thick jacket draped over her shoulders, and as she stood she shrugged it off. A pair of shoulder holsters held an impressive array of knives; at least eight that he could see, lined up in order of length. ‘Come on, Zuzu. You were so confident half a second ago.’

‘I'm going to kill you.’

She selected a knife and held it between her thumb and index finger fastidiously. ‘Mhmm.’

* * *

When they were young, Azula and Zuko had play-fought. Hitting each other with pillows to act out stories of old warriors with swords and shields, or throwing rolled-up socks at each other playing cops and robbers. As they got older they started to fight more seriously, with the training weapons Azulon’s bodyguards used to stay in shape.

Zuko would win at first. He was bigger, and they were both small, and he would hit her with a pillow and she would fall over. But as they grew it became clear that she was… _better._ She could beat him, despite the size difference, because as soon as she was able to _move_ , she could beat him.

By the time he was sixteen, he couldn’t beat her in fights. He wasn’t clumsy or weak or slow; it was just that she was more agile, stronger, faster; everything he could do, she could do better. So they hadn't fought in a long time.

Now he took his coat off carefully, watching her as he set it down. The gun he left nestled in it; her guys wouldn’t have let him get near it. His brass knuckles he kept, and he spun his cane once, twice, at his side, as she stretched.

He didn’t get in fights very often. He was Ozai’s son, and Azulon’s grandson, and although they didn’t let him slack off on the job he was usually protected by enough people that he didn’t have to use his own fists. The last few days had been… weird. The bruise on his face was still tender. It was dark in the warehouse. He could hear Katara breathing behind him…

All his thoughts fought together for dominance in his head. After a frantic moment, his heart racing, he calmed himself almost violently and stepped toward her. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

So they fought. It was a blur, a vicious series of flashes and movements, where they danced back and forth striking and dodging and blocking. Neither of them made any one specific action; it was a series of fluid movements, both of them anticipating everything that the other did. Zuko realized, as he went on moving, that he had expected to die within moments. He realized, as he continued to _live_ , that he had expected Azula to be so much better than him. But she wasn’t. Not that she was _worse_ – she was probably a better hand-to-hand fighter than he was overall – but there just wasn’t the imbalance he had been expecting. He had built up the threat she posed in his mind, and it came as a surprise to him that she didn’t live up to the expectation.

They fought the same. That was how they anticipated each other so perfectly; he would throw a punch and before he had seen it end he had already followed through and spun, because he knew she was going to dodge and respond, and after he had blocked that slash of her knife he lunged forward to hit out at her other hand, which she had brought around in preparation for that exact movement… So it went on, and on, and on, for at least two minutes, in almost dead silence.

 _Maybe I can wear her down_ , he thought, a wild hope beginning to break.

And then his knee gave out.

He pitched forward, his leg going limp. She stepped aside to let him fall and then, as he tried to push himself to his feet again, she stepped down hard on his left hand, breaking it under her heel. He screamed, uncontrollably, as she _twisted_ her foot and the bones and muscle crushed together. He tried to pull away, blindly clutching at the floor, and he heard Katara calling.

Azula stabbed him in the kidney, clinically and precisely. He didn’t feel the blade as it entered or exited; for a long, long moment the only thing he felt was the impact of the handle as it bruised his skin.

Finally she kicked him, once, twice, three times, in the knee. Zuko felt something – a few somethings – crack.

‘Just dumb luck,’ she told him, stepping back. The pain almost drowned out her words. ‘Sorry, Zuzu. I—’

Katara shouted something incoherent, and as Zuko struggled to not die he saw her leap forward, knife drawn.

‘ _Don’t shoot_!’ Azula told her guys, as she turned and kicked Katara’s arm to the side. Zuko watched, desperately trying to stay conscious, cursing himself for not being able to stand. His hand was useless, his knee was broken again, and he was bleeding to death internally. _And a minute ago I was so sure…_

He watched them fight, forcing himself to stand excruciatingly slowly. He was worried his legs would cramp up by the time he could stand, or even that he would bleed out before he could make himself of use.

Katara was fighting well. He was surprised, a little, and very proud, but his fear pushed those two less important emotions aside and took over his brain. _She's fighting Azula. I have to help…_

He stood, finally, and swayed in place, lightheaded and weak. He could feel the blood leaking steadily from his lower back. It had already soaked into his shoe, and when he put his weight on that leg it made a weird sucking sensation, and he lost four or five seconds mindlessly fixated on that.

He pulled himself back with an effort, using the crippling pain in his leg as an anchor. _Katara. Is fighting Azula. Help her._

He didn’t know where his cane was, and as he took his first step he stumbled, off-balance and disoriented. He caught himself in time but as he straightened he saw Katara look towards him, concerned, and before he could tell her _don’t look away from Azula_ …

Azula stabbed. The knife caught Katara under the ribs and for one heart-stopping moment Zuko thought Katara was going to die there – the knife was going to tear through the heart and she would die – Azula was going to tear through her lungs and laugh – Katara was going to bleed to death on the ground with Zuko as Azula watched…

But Katara didn’t die. It was a bad wound, from the looks of it, but she stayed upright. She gasped, and in that second of pain and indecision Azula knocked her knife away and grabbed Katara’s throat. Katara choked, and Azula dropped her own knife and squeezed with both hands, viciously, pushing with her thumbs. Katara struggled but her hands were empty and Azula was merciless.

‘I'm going to crush your lover’s windpipe,’ she called over her shoulder to Zuko. ‘If you weren’t a _failure_ you could come and stop me…’

They locked eyes for a second, Zuko and Azula. She was laughing, and he was crying without knowing it, blinking tears out of his eyes furiously, trying not to fall down. Katara was gasping, and Azula was squeezing, and he was struggling to stay standing. (And Katara was reaching for Azula’s holstered knives, but no one saw.)

‘Stop,’ he said to Azula, but he didn’t even know if she could hear him. She flipped her hair out of her eyes and looked back to Katara—

Who stabbed her in the chest, once, twice, three times, and then, when Azula gasped and staggered back, once more in the throat.

Zuko dropped to the ground at the same time as his sister, calling wordlessly for Jee, waiting for Azula’s men to start shooting.

They didn’t.

* * *

He was unconscious for a little while. When he came to, Katara was shaking him. ‘Zuko,’ she said, voice shaking. ‘Zuko, stay with me.’

‘Katara.’ It probably sounded more like _a-a-a_ , but she heard it anyway, made a noise like a sob, and kissed him.

‘Don’t fall asleep,’ she said, and took a deep breath. ‘Stay still. I'm gonna try to see…’ A minute passed as she patched him up as best as she could. ‘We’ll have to go to the hospital as quickly as possible. This doesn’t look good.’

As the world came back into focus – so, so slowly – he asked, ‘Where are Azula’s guys?’

‘They left.’

‘They didn’t hurt you?’

‘Jee came in right after you passed out. He brought a _lot_ of guys, and Azula’s group didn’t cause any trouble. They didn’t look like they had any fight left.’

‘Jee?’

‘Outside.’

‘Azula?’

She nodded to the body still laying on the ground where she had left it, a cold puddle of blood spread out beneath it.

 _That's all? That's how she died?_ It felt sadly anticlimactic. A single mistake - she had looked away once - and she was dead. 

‘Help me up.’

‘Zuko—’

‘Iroh. We have to hurry…’

‘To the DA’s office? Zuko, I don’t think—’

Zuko gritted his teeth as she helped him to his feet. His head still swam, and she had put bandages and gauze in and around the gash in his side and they _hurt_ , and the hand, and the knee… ‘Your throat. Are you okay?’

There was an angry dark bruise around her neck, and a splash of blood on her shirt. She smiled at him, unconcerned. ‘I’m fine, love,’ she said, softly, but he noticed for the first time that she sounded very hoarse. ‘Oh—’ She went to Azula’s discarded coat and hefted a little handbag. ‘You never know, am I right?’ She slung it under her arm. ‘Alright, then. If we have to save your uncle, we’d better go now.’

She supported his weight on one side, and he leaned heavily on his cane on the other, and together they made it to the door of the now-abandoned warehouse. The sun was sinking in the sky; it would set in less than four hours.

Jee was waiting, alone, when they came out. ‘Zuko,’ he said shortly. ‘You alright?’

‘Where are the rest of them?’

‘Sent them home. Didn’t need them.’

 _Fuck_. ‘Get them. Now. DA’s office. We’re going…’

‘The DA’s office?’ Jee frowned. ‘Wait, if you're going now we might get there, uh… Too late for whatever it is you're planning.’

‘Planning nothing. Get them.’ _They won’t make it time to help_ , Zuko decided, a cold feeling of loneliness creeping up his stomach. ‘Hurry.’

Jee ran off.

‘Okay,’ he said to Katara. ‘Are you ready?’ He didn’t ask _are you sure you want to come_ , because he knew the answer. And even though he would have rather died a hundred times over than see her hurt, he knew nothing on earth would stop her from staying with him. He would do the same for her. And they both knew it.

‘Of course.’ She smiled up at him as he tried not to put too much weight on her shoulders. ‘Let’s go. Iroh’s not going to save himself.’

They didn’t run, exactly. But they _went_ , as fast as possible, a cavalry of two on the way to save the day. They were both bleeding internally, and she had a broken collarbone, and he had a shattered knee, and there were only three good hands between them.

But they went anyway. And as they did, two thoughts took turns jostling to the front of Zuko’s mind. One was the little farm, with Katara, in the middle of nowhere, where none of this would be any more than a memory.

And the other was the old man from the rounds, sneering at him and telling him he’d die shot to death doing a job he couldn't finish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently this chapter was enough to bump the rating from t to m. disappointing but acceptable. 
> 
> _there will be only one more chapter. anything i have may have said here in the past is a lie._
> 
> and then i might finally update sausage! who knows. not me.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a whole lot of fun to write. this concept was inspired mainly by [pidgeandcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeandcat/pseuds/pidgeandcat)'s nonsense/genius. 
> 
> the first chapter was beta-ed by [antarcticas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antarcticas/pseuds/antarcticas), who told me to change two of the most defining features of the fic, which ended up making it better. 
> 
> survive!


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